The Legend of Ballin' Balgruuf
by woodmr13
Summary: When the Dragonborn finally goes too far with his ridiculous requests, Jarl Balgruuf changes into something entirely different, and far more awesome. This was written by a friend of mine, who has asked me to post it for him.
1. The Trial

"Alright, court in order".

The words of a great man rumbled throughout Dragonsreach, the only other sound being the clinking of various dishes and cups as the "hero" of Tamriel traipsed over one of the great tables of the hall. He'd stop him, but Balgruuf was more worried about the Dragonborn shouting his soul from his body.

"Um…", said the accused on his knees in front of Balgruuf. "I'm the only one here". "Not true", Balgruuf stuck a thumb out to the dragon skull behind him, Proventus being stuck in the maw and fully conscious, courtesy of the Dragonborn, who wasn't too pleased when his status was doubted by the man. The worst part was that the Dragonborn had used a sword crafted by Adrianne Avenicci, Proventus' daughter. If only he had listened after the Dragonborn had shouted all of the silverware away...

"And Farengar's over there looking at that useless-ass tablet", the Dragonborn pointed out. "But he's not even participating!", Nazeem shouted, almost rising from his knees. "Shut the hell up!", Dragonborn shouted as he jumped to the other table, pacing again. "You're always talking about the Cloud District, well here we are motherfucker!"

"You can't do this!", he cried. "Where are the guards, they won't stand for this!" "Them?", Dragonborn laughed. "I sent them on a hunt for a sweet roll I put in a dragon's nest. They won't be coming back!" Dragonborn jumped down from the table, walked over to Nazeem, and crouched down next to him. He could see the sweat running down his face.

As for Nazeem, he could see nothing past that dragonbone helm. Nothing except those burning orange eyes, staring into his, boring a hole into his mind. "I have a secret, you know", the Dragonborn whispered directly into his ear. "You wanna know what it is?" If Nazeem shook his head, the Dragonborn didn't seem to care, and Nazeem was too afraid to register if he had shaken his head or not.

"I turned your wife into the sweetroll, Nazeem". Nazeem gasped, and he was sure he saw the Dragonborn smile behind that accursed helm. "How?", he whispered, beginning to shake. Shakes turned to whimpers when the Dragonborn held out a black staff, and Nazeem was sure that the face carved at the top was laughing at his misery.

"Maaagic", the Dragonborn explained, then abruptly stood, pointing at Nazeem. "As Thane of Whiterun, I sentence this man to death for not letting me steal his clothes while in open market, with respect".

Balgruuf sighed, placing his face in his palm, adjusting the seat on his throne. The Dragonborn had asked for many ridiculous things over the years he'd known him. A free house, his own legion of guards, a lifetime's supply of sweetrolls, but this was too much. "Homie, I am saying that right, correct?" This new "hip" language Dragonborn was making everyone learn added to that ridiculous list. Dragonborn nodded, "Yeah, homes". "Homie, you cannot sentence this man to death for this act. It is unjust, and quite frankly ridiculous".

"What's unjust and ridiculous is that I've saved this world three times and haven't gotten a single reward!" He had a point there. "Just let me have this one, man". It hadn't been easy for the Dragonborn either. He'd killed, what? Alduin, an ancient dragon that wanted to devour everyone's souls? Harkon, a crazy vampire lord who wanted to blot out the sun? Miraak, a dragon priest (and dragonborn) that wanted to brainwash everyone? If that didn't get him immunity over the law, nothing would.

Finally, the Jarl relaxed. Mostly out of fear. "Fine", he sighed, "do as you wish". "Sweet!", the Dragonborn exclaimed. Almost immediately, the Dragonborn equipped a weapon none other than the Mace of Molag Bal. Nazeem couldn't describe the black mace, other than by the twisted spines and the wicked faces carved into the sides, mostly due to the fact that the mace was bashed into his face, sending his body sprawling into the fire pit.

Balgruuf watched in horror as Nazeem burned, his screams echoing throughout the hall, not noticing the purple energy flowing from his body to a book that the Dragonborn was holding. "I have a confession to make", Dragonborn announced, tossing the book at the Jarl, who caught it flawlessly. "I needed a sacrifice and I chose Nazeem because the dick was just so condescending".

Balgruuf eyed the book, noticing the black, frayed edges and the strange symbol in the middle; an orange, dimpled ball with two black, curving lines at each side, one straight line in the middle, and a fourth line cutting across the three. It was the title, however, that intrigued him the most. "The Book of Ball?", he read, glancing at the Dragonborn, who shrugged. "Molag Bal", he corrected.

"Yeah, it turns out that being his champion and a vampire lord can get you some pretty cool shit from the guy. Like that book, it does something pretty trill if you read it". "I don't know…" "Dude, seriously?" I just fed it a soul for nothing is what you're telling me". "Fine!", he snapped. "I'll read your godforsaken book, damn you!"

Slowly, ever so slowly, he reached for the book cover, grasping to edge, and beginning to- "Wait wait wait!", Dragonborn shouted. "I almost forgot, if some of those guards come back can I have them? We're running out of food at Castle Volkihar". "Don't care", Balgruuf deadpanned, opening the book.

And then all hell broke loose as Balgruuf screamed, orange energy enveloping him. The hall shook as tendrils of light shot past the Dragonborn, and like a flash, it was all gone. All that was left in the throne was Balgruuf. "Ye gods…", the Dragonborn, who was not one to be surprised, gushed.


	2. Jarl Ballin'

Jon Battle-Born was a simple man. He liked simple things. His goal in life was to lean on one spot all day in the Whiterun market, and that was it. He didn't ask, he didn't tell. He had to wonder though, why were there troll skulls hanging atop every door in Whiterun? He spotted a familiar face buying flowers to put in a small basket and called out to her.

"Ysolda! Come over here!" She walked over, glaring at him. "What is it?", she asked. "How long have those skulls been up?" He pointed to one of the troll skulls, Ysolda's eyes widened when she saw them. "Why, I don't know. I could have sworn those weren't up ther-" "YEEAAH!"

Upon hearing that scream, they saw a man jump up to the skull, holding his arms above his head, quickly thrusting them down and slamming a round object through the open mouth of the skull, landing on his feet while the object bounced off the ground, landing in his outstretched hand. Ysolda dropped her basket while Jon's mouth hung open. "Jarl Balgruuf…", he gasped in awe.

It was the Jarl alright, but gone was the fur robe he usually wore. Instead, he wore some sort of shiny, mesh orange shorts and tanktop, with an orange sweatband around his forehead, a strange orange ball in his hands. What disturbed Jon the most was his smile. Balgruuf wore a smile that told Jon something was wrong. Balgruuf was known to smile often, but not with a smile that big, and possibly crazed.

"Ahh…", he sighed, looking at the skull. "Well that's it, I suppose I've dunked every basket, every single one… except that one". He pointed to Dragonsreach, and Jon gasped when he saw the skull of Numinex, the great dragon that had been imprisoned by King Olaf One-Eye, that always adorned the palace strung up on the side of the building, its mouth open in imitation of the troll skulls. Balgruuf held an arm out not only to address Jon and Ysolda, but everyone in the Whiterun Market as well.

"Friends, subjects, you have served me well, all of you. But…", he pointed to the dragon skull, "I have found my true calling, in balling". Upon seeing the confused stares, he elaborated. I know that most of you don't understand this, but rest assured, my eyes have been opened into a new world, a world where I must do this to cement my place in history". Then he ran, going through the gates of Whiterun, and to where he ran, no one knew but Baller Balgruuf himself.

In the center of the province of Skyrim, there was one mountain taller than the rest. The Throat of the World, where High Hrothgar, home of the legendary Greybeards was located. It was here that Balgruuf would accomplish his ultimate goal. Where he would- "Dude, what are you doing here?" Balgruuf whipped around, just at the base of the temple, and saw the Dragonborn behind him. The one who had freed him with that wonderful book. "Dragonborn? What are you doing here?", Balgruuf asked. "Me? Nothin', just wanted to say 'hi' to the Greybeards. Also, they said they would teach me a shout that lets you walk through walls if I brought them pie". Then he pointed to Balgruuf. "My question is, why are you here?"

"I have traveled a long way, Dragonborn. I have journeyed to the Greybeard's temple, making the seven-thousand dribbles to get here". The Dragonborn nodded, bobbing his head every five words that were in the Jarl's explanation. "Uh-huh", he said, "well I don't know about that dribbling thing, but I can tell you're having a better time than I am".

Sensing the Dragonborn's displeasure, Balgruuf asked, "something troubling you?" The Dragonborn groaned loudly upon hearing that question. "Yeah, I'll say. It's Serana. You free someone from their oppressive father, practically save their life, ask 'em on a date and get rejected. I just don't get it". His shoulders slumped slightly. "Maybe it's because I took what was left of his clothes from that puddle and put them on that flagpole, but still"!

He sighed. "What are you doing here again?", the Dragonborn asked. So Balgruuf told the Dragonborn his plan, a plan that was so grand he couldn't help but smile at it.


	3. The Ultimate Dunk

Fifteen minutes later they were in the back courtyard of the temple, Balgruuf at the top of the tower Arngeir always meditated at while the Dragonborn and the Greybeards waited at the bottom. "Dragonborn…", Arngeir sighed, rubbing his aged face. "You have requested questionable things from us in the past, that peace hearing you held here …" "Dude, the world was ending and I was too lazy to win the war. Plus, that peace collapsed, literally a week later". "... But I think I speak for all of us when I say this is too far".

Dragonborn glared at Arngeir. "First of all, you do nothing BUT speak for them, because the last time I tried to have a conversation with Wulfgar I was blasted through a wall. But this is different!", he pointed at Balgruuf, who stood at the edge of the tower, staring into the distance with a stoic expression". "That man has a dream to accomplish, I can't deny him that!"

"But he'll die if we do this!", Arngeir retorted. "A sacrifice he and he alone is prepared to make", Dragonborn said. "Second of all, if you don't help me do this I'ma just go and mind-fuck Paarthurnax with that Bend Will shout and have him drop Balgruuf to the hoop".

Again Arngeir sighed that aged sigh of his, giving the Dragonborn an exasperated look. "Fine", he said, "let the fool kill himself, see if I care". "Cool", Dragonborn said, turning to the tower. "You're good to go man!" Balgruuf exhaled, grasping the ball in his hand. "The time has come… to make the most baller dunk this world has ever seen". Then he leapt from the tower.

He fell close to the ground, but just before he hit, the Dragonborn along with the Greybeards unleashed a shout in unison that shook the very planet.

"FUS... RO DAH!"

And Balgruuf flew.

Legend would have it, from the Dwemer towers of Markarth to the sewers of Riften, from the College of Winterhold to the forests of Falkreath, the sun was, for an instant, blotted out by a single man who flew across the sky. A majestic sight to be sure, as scholars would later write. He flew all the way to Whiterun, where he fell to the dragon skull hanging from Dragonsreach. The crowds in the market cheered as he slammed the ball through the open mouth of the skull, the biggest, happiest smile the man had ever known graced his lips as his ears were filled with the cheers of his subjects, his life goal complete. His world faded to black as he made contact with the ground, but he did not care, he was at peace.

"Yeah, what happened was pretty raw", the Dragonborn stated as Balgruuf's body burned on the Skyforge behind him, the populace of Whiterun in front of him. "It's also kind of weird that this is the second time this month we've had a funeral here, and that I'm speaking as opposed to his… y'know, kids. Nevertheless, he was a great man with great dreams, and his sudden basketball craze should never be looked into, because I'm Thane and I said so anyway", he proclaimed.

He then pointed to a random member of the crowd. "Serana, we getting married or what?" "No", the vampire groaned. Dragonborn crossed his arms. "Oh, I see. I free you from a crypt, reunite you with your mother, free you from your oppressive father, and this is the thanks I get?" She nodded. "Not even a one night stand?" She shook her head. "Fine, whatever. Funeral's over, everyone can go home. Dragonborn out, peace".

And so they left, the legend of Ballin' Balgruuf burning in their wake, the fabled basketball with which he made the dunk resting atop the pyre. The last testament to the greatest Jarl to ever live, Balgruuf. A baller who's legend almost outshone the Dragonborn himself.


End file.
